::blinkblink:: Wow. Um, I’m honestly shocked at the number of reviews I’ve gotten for this so far, and even more surprised that people think I should be getting more reviews than what I already have. Careful, you might make me greedy! ^_~
Warnings: None, really, other than the fact that I’ve dropped the rating for now. I figure that if The Two Towers can get by with a PG-13 rating, then so can I. Well, at least for a few more chapters. Additionally, this was written under the influence of Move and the Vampire Hunter D: Bloodlust soundtrack. I know, weird combination, but it seems to have worked. ::shrugs::
A/N: Journal entries from now on will be longer and a bit more involved, reflecting Draco’s maturation as a person, as well as his growing understanding of the situation around him. A lot of the style for these entries—the rambling, the tendency to go off topic—is derived from my own journal entry style at age thirteen.
P.S. Still looking for anyone interested in beta-ing for me. -_-; Thorough knowledge of the canon universe and grasp of the English language is a must. French and Japanese wouldn’t hurt either.
12 June 1993
While somewhat unusual—in other words, this has never happened before—I’m spending the week at Uncle’s and I’m enjoying myself. It’s interesting how little Father and Uncle get along, even though (from what Maman tells me) it was his suggestion that he be named my godfather. Maman keeps telling me that I’ll understand when I’m older, but I’m curious about it now!
…
Funny…second year ended only a few weeks ago, but I can’t seem to get it out of my mind. Ever since the Chamber of Secrets incident, I’ve been suffering annoying bouts of ‘what if’ syndrome—what if Harry had accepted my hand in friendship? What if I hadn’t blundered so badly in my attempts to befriend him? What if he had been sorted into Slytherin rather than Gryffindor? Would things have turned out the way they did?
Unfortunately, I seem to think about these things and the most inconvenient of times. Uncle thumped me for nearly adding Hounds Tongue to the Wolfsbane potion I was helping him brew—now that would have been disastrous. Could you imagine a werewolf convulsing with laughter on the floor? I mean, the potion is supposed to make them harmless, so it would be rather…um, rude or something…for them to laugh themselves to death, wouldn’t it? Uncle won’t even tell me why we’re brewing the potion; all he says is that it will be needed for next year. I wonder if we’re going to be studying werewolves in DADA…I wonder if we’ll have a teacher for DADA.
You know, one of the most annoying things about being a kid is that the adults think you’re stupid. Well, maybe not stupid…but they certainly don’t treat us as though we’re as intelligent as we are. I mean, you’d think having either first or second top marks in all my classes would make people realise that I’m not dumb, but Uncle and Maman are the only ones who treat me like I’m not a kid. And even then they still seem to think they need to “shelter” me from things, or some such nonsense.
If I knew everything that was going on, I think I’d actually be able to formulate plans. Instead, I’m stuck making things up as I go along, and it makes me feel so…so…Gryffindor! I mean, really, with everyone treating me like I’m stupid, I think it’s beginning to rub off and I’m actually becoming stupid.
…
This rant has become longer than I expected. Uncle will be waking me in a few hours to continue work on the potion, so I should probably try to get a little sleep. I hope that, wherever Harry’s at, he’s having a better summer than he did school year.
D. S. Malfoy
28 June 1993
Uncle sent me an unusual package by Owl Post today. It’s a porcelain model of a many-tailed fox, painted iridescent gold. There was no note, no explanation, no nothing. It’s sitting on top my dresser right now, looking as though it’s laughing at me.
In case I haven’t said it before, Uncle’s completely nutters.
Draco
4 July 1994
You know, it’s funny that this is the American’s Independence Day. I mean, if you consider how much people have become slaves to money, pride, religion, societal standards, etcetera, how can they truly be independent?
…
I hate not sleeping enough. My journal entries—and thoughts—become rather strange. I think I’m going to find a mirror and make faces at myself so it’ll tell me that I’m stupid.
Draco
17 July 1994
I found the stash of jewellery that I filched last year in a bag at the bottom of my trunk. I don’t have a clue as to what I’m going to do with it, since not only is returning it very un-Slytherin, it’s also quite embarrassing. I can only imagine the kind of looks I’d receive. “Look, here’s the jewellery I stole from you last year. I don’t remember stealing it, though, so please don’t hold it against me or think that I’m odd.”
…
Yeah, and Gryffindors will suddenly embrace Slytherins as their long-lost brothers.
I tried to read that book that Maman gave me for my twelfth birthday again, but it’s not going very well. All I was able to make out was some stuff on the inside cover when I used a revealing charm—something about ‘children,’ ‘green lands,’ and ‘great serpent.’ I swear, my family likes to give me odd gifts in order to make me crackers.
D. S. Malfoy
30 July 1993
When I woke up this morning, I had to grab my journal to jot this down; it’s the remnants of the dream I was having before my parents’ icy argument pulled me from Morpheus’ arms (I’m ignoring them until I’ve written it all down).
I remember being on the back of an eagle owl, which seems absurd as I write this, but it’s true. I mean, it’s impossible for a normal-sized human to fit on the back of an eagle owl, but maybe I’d shrunk or something.
Anyway, the owl was flying over a forest—an old forest, given that the trees were all conifers. It was dark, and neither the moon nor stars were out. I remember the sky being almost breathlessly beautiful, like liquid blue-black ink, appearing to have a texture like velvet if I’d been able to reach out and touch it. The owl dipped and swerved above the treetops, the wind rushing through my hair, past my ears in an audible howl. It was exhilarating, like playing against Harry on the Quidditch pitch.
Eventually we reached our destination, which appeared to be an outcropping of rocks, split down the middle as if cleaved by a giant axe. Suddenly I was on the ground and bird was gone, and I realised that hidden within the rock face were several intertwined pictographs.
I couldn’t make them all out, but these were the ones I remembered:
- A winged lion, or maybe a griffin
- A winged serpent that resembled a dragon
- Some sort of raptor, probably an eagle
- A badger, I think, since it somewhat resembled the Hufflepuff House mascot
- A regular serpent
- A multi-tailed fox
- An odd sort of bird-creature with multi-coloured plumage
- A phoenix, I think
All of these creatures were drawn around various objects—two swords, a jewel, a mirror, a chalice, and, I think, a flower. And up above them was what looked like a pyramid with a giant eye (it was rather creepy).
But then I got woken up by Father and Maman. I guess I should probably go and see what’s wrong.
I think that this has possibly been one of the worst days of my life. My parents were fighting over Harry again, and something having to do with Father moving Maman’s trunk with her old school things. She slapped him… I never thought I would see my Maman slap my father like that. I mean, she always seems so quiet, so calm, so composed… I’d never want to make an enemy out of my Maman.
Eventually, Father told her where he’d moved the trunk, and that seemed to make her happy. After a few minutes, I went to look for her, and found her pouring over an old photo album. She knew I was there, but she didn’t look up when she first began to speak to me.
“It’s a shame, mon dragon,” she said to me, flipping another page.
I edged closer. “What’s a shame, Maman?” I responded.
“It’s a shame that the two of you couldn’t have been friends. Lily was like a sister to me.”
That was all she said, and when I saw a tear slide down her cheek, I left. It had seemed like I was intruding on a private moment. I wish I could tell her the truth, tell her that I wish we could have been friends too. I wish I could tell her that I had to become something else instead; something that no-one else could be for him. I think she would understand, but…but I think if I told someone, I might give myself away. And I can’t let that happen—it would endanger too many people if the truth was known.
And I find myself wondering, now, wondering what kind of friends Maman and Lily were, wondering what kind of person Harry’s mother was if she could inspire my Maman to such depths of loyalty, even after her death.
Father was called away to the Ministry just before dinnertime, and I’m waiting for him to return before I go to bed. It must have been something pretty bad, since the Minister himself came to fetch Father. Just as long as it doesn’t concern Harry…
Draco
31 July 1993
Father didn’t return until early this morning; I fell asleep in the parlour waiting for him. He chastised me for my rumpled clothes, but was too tired to do anything more than that. Really, I don’t understand all this need for propriety in our own home…
Anyway, it turns out that a prisoner escaped from Azkaban prison sometime early yesterday—a really high-profile prisoner from what Father said, which explains why the Minister was in such a tizzy. That man seems so incompetent some days, it’s a wonder he even remembers that he is the Minister.
He gave me a name before disappearing into his room, shutting the door in my face. (It was rude, but I managed not to say anything.) Sirius Black. The name sounds familiar, but I can’t remember why. I think I’ll go at try to get a bit of sleep and then ask Maman when I wake up.
It’s official—Maman is more evil than the Dark Lord himself. She dragged me out of bed with only two hours of sleep and forced me to go shopping with her. As if that weren’t bad enough, we ended up meeting up with Pansy and her mother. Don’t get me wrong, I like my cousin well enough, but she’s going through this stage where she falls in love with nearly everything that has two legs and a semi-pretty face. I mean, she was even talking about how beautiful Millicent Bulstrode’s eyes are, and though Millie has a…er, nice enough personality, there’s nothing pretty about her.
So, I had to deal with female nattering all afternoon, and the only upside to it was that I got to hear all the gossip about Sirius Black’s escape. Apparently he’s the man who betrayed Harry’s parents to the Dark Lord and got them killed, plus he killed a whole bunch of Muggles afterward. I wonder if Harry knows yet…and I wonder what he’ll do when he finds out. Probably something unintentionally stupid. It always seems to work out that way.
D. S. Malfoy
9 August 1993
So the latest Harry Potter incident to come through the snake-vine is an interesting one. In fact, once I was actually able to wrap my mind around the concept, I had to leave the room in order to howl with laughter in private.
Harry blew his Muggle aunt up, apparently. He literally blew her up! According to the Magic Reversal squad’s report, she had filled with air to the point where she resembled a small whale and was floating near the ceiling, her face turning all sorts of interesting colours. Really, I wonder what the stupid woman said to make Harry accomplish that—with a wand, no less, according to the report. Apparently his Muggle relatives locked his school supplies away in a cupboard of some sort during summer hols.
But, as if that weren’t bad enough, after blowing his aunt up he ran away from home. From what Father told me, he managed to hail down the Knight Bus and wound up in Diagon Alley. Apparently Minister Blunder—er, Fudge met him there and made sure that he was checked in to the Leaky Cauldron. He’s going to be staying there until school starts.
Either Harry doesn’t know yet that Black’s out for his blood—since that’s the rumour that’s been flying around. You know, since Black killed his parents, he’s out to finish the job. Probably thinks it’ll get him back into the Dark Lord’s good graces… Hmmm, I wonder if that’s an oxymoron?
So, yet again Harry proves to have remarkable skills at staying alive. I wish I could have been there to see his face when he blew up his aunt. It’s funny how people still believe that he’s all goodness and light with things like this… I mean, I’m sure he had just cause for what he did, but most people would have…oh, I don’t know, thrown a temper tantrum, or a glass, or just generally broken a lot of stuff. But noooo…not Harry Potter. Harry Potter has to inflate his relatives.
I wonder if Maman would mind terribly if I inflated my cousin the next time she talks about snogging Higgs or Goyle. I mean, really! Well, at least Higgs is a decent-looking sort, even if he is barmy enough to think Pansy’s cute. She’s a girl.
Malfoy
30 August 1993
I felt a bit like a character out of a Muggle spy story today. I wonder what Father would have said had he seen me skulking in and out of the shadows of Diagon Alley, trying not to be obvious as I was stalking Harry Potter.
I first spotted him at Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour, bent over some book or other, absently wiping his finger around the rim of a partially melted fudge sundae. It was a bit odd to see him outside of school—even more odd to see him apparently enjoying his homework. He always complains bitterly to Granger (along with that great lout Weasley) about his homework and how awful classes and the professors are. I didn’t think he enjoyed learning, but apparently I was wrong.
A brief detour to Flourish and Blots to get my new books for the year proved semi-hazardous to my health. The Monster Book of Monsters, our book for Care of Magical Creatures, nearly bit my nose off after the weeping store assistant fetched it from its cage. After we found a piece of rope to bind it shut, I had a scary premonition: What if the scary, creepy, huge gamekeeper, Hagrid, is the new CoMC teacher? I’m hoping that I’m wrong, but I really, really doubt that I am—and it’s not pride speaking in this case.
Foisting my books off on my Maman (I know, rather rude, but I had more interesting things to do than hand around while she shopped for gifts and what not for upcoming occasions), I did a run-through sweep of Quality Quidditch Supplies and found Harry and a number of other kids drooling over the new Firebolt model that was on display in the window. It was a nice looking broom, but I’ll admit that I spent more time watching Harry’s expression than looking at the broom.
Part of it was the old adage ‘know thy enemy.’ I mean, I don’t truly consider Harry my enemy, but he is my adversary, my rival, my not-friend. He was a thirteen-year-old boy who had brushed death three times now and lived to tell the tale, twice with the Dark Lord of the present, and once with the Dark Lord of the past. It was odd how he could seem outwardly so unaffected by the things that had happened. If it hadn’t been for the scar obscured by a messy tumble of ebon fringe, he would have been any other normal Hogwarts student, complete with Quidditch craze and bad study habits. Well, that and his eyes. Harry’s eyes have always been the telling tale, always showed what he’s thinking, how’s he’s feeling. Well, at least to me.
Yes, the venom was still there, cleverly concealed beneath a layer of good boy smiles and dishevelled hair. It’s not even malicious venom, really, it’s more of…of…well, in a way, it reminds me of the African boomslang. It’s an extremely shy snake, tree-dwelling for the most part, and yet when cornered or provoked, it’s one of the most deadly snakes in the world. I mean, causing your blood to clot, eventually leading to a stroke or heart attack… What a way to die!
Anyway, I had to run off to the Apothecary Shoppe to pick up my potion supplies, and then meet up with Maman at Madam Malkin’s for new robes. That’s one of the worst parts about being a teenager; nothing ever seems to fit! So after about an hour of being fussed over by Maman and Madam Malkin, I left with two altered robes and an order for five more to be sent to Hogwarts.
Our last stop was purely of my own choice—Imogene’s Exotic Sweet Emporium. The store owner’s a bit of an odd bird, but she gets in some of the most amazing things. My favourite are the candied chrysanthemums from Japan. According to the label, the petals are dipped and preserved in this combination of sugar and ginger, with “secret ingredients” harvested by the reclusive ryuujin. The flowers are grown by the youko of Fushimi temple, and the profits from their overseas sales are used for temple upkeep, as well as to aid impoverished farmers. Hey, even if it’s not true, it’s a rather touching story, you have to admit.
So, bag of candied ‘mums in hand, I convinced Maman to take the long way through Diagon Alley before we Flooed home.
Again Harry was sitting outside Fortescue’s, this time nibbling on his quill with a piece of doodled on parchment in front of him. I squeezed Maman’s hand briefly, nodding in his direction. I ignored her gasp and continued walking, letting her stay and stare as long as she wanted to—as long as she needed to.
She caught up to me in the Leaky Cauldron not five minutes later, the only betrayal of her emotions the faint wetness in her blue, blue eyes. We didn’t speak until we’d gotten home, and then she hugged me. I was afraid she’d end up crushing me before she let go, but I let her…because she’s my Maman.
“Thank you,” she whispered, pressing her lips to my cheek as she stood up and wiped away her tears. “Thank you, mon dragon.”
Not knowing what to say—what to do—I nodded, clutching my sweets to my chest. Making my excuses, I ran to my room and shut the door, diving under the blankets. After a few moments, I pulled my stuffed fox from its hiding place, burying my face in the rich fur.
I miss Dobby a lot. And, I wonder if I’ll ever be able to handle emotions gracefully. Right now I feel like such a coward.
D. S. Malfoy
1 September 1993
So, since this Sirius Black guy is such a big deal, Minister Fudge Up apparently gave the Dementors of Azkaban free reign at Hogwarts. Not only are those…things…beyond creepy, I nearly passed out when one came into our compartment on the train. And of all the people to have witnessed my moment of weakness, the Weasley twins had to be there. If I could bury myself, I would—under Hogwarts Castle, preferably.
Of course, Harry did pass out—quite violently from what we heard. Seems like he went into seizures of some sort. Makes me wonder why… Oh, and when I went to play my usual first-of-the-term Nasty Prat role, I found out who our new DADA professor was. A shabby-looking man by the name of R. J. Lupin, the R. standing for Remus, according to rumour. Actually, it was only his robes that were shabby-looking. He seemed to be a nice enough sort of guy, if a little on the thin side and contradictory in appearance. In some ways, he looks no older than Maman or Uncle, but there’s grey threading his hair at the temples and lines creasing the corners of his wide eyes.
Uncle came around towards lights’ out to pass out our schedules. I have two of my new classes tomorrow, and I’m hoping that I’ll survive them. (My fear about the CoMC teacher was proved correct, much to my dismay.)
Anyway, off to sleep before Uncle sees the dorm light still on and thumps me with a pillow.
D. S. Malfoy
2 September 1993
Arithmancy went rather well. That know-it-all Granger’s in the class, which could prove to be a bit of an annoyance, but at least Professor Vector knows her stuff—not to mention her jokes make more sense than Professor Sprout’s! I have two chapters to read before the next lesson, but that shouldn’t be a problem.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t as luck with Care of Magical Creatures. Leave it to me to not only offend all the Gryffindors and the teacher, but to offend the lesson topic as well. I’m writing this from the hospital wing. Despite Madam Pomfrey’s best attempts, the wound isn’t healing quite right, which has me miffed to no end. Already there are rumours flying around about how I’m being melodramatic about the whole thing, that my arm’s already better and I’m just playing it up in an effort to get Hagrid fired. It’s funny how easily children have their parents’ habits applied to them. If they really think that, why don’t they ask Madam Pomfrey about it? She’s the one who locked me up in here for observation anyway, going off about my ‘delicate condition’ and ‘odd physiology.’ I don’t know what she was talking about…
Father’s probably going to make a big deal out of this. What am I supposed to do? Sometimes I feel as though everyone wants me to just up and defy him, but they just—don’t—get—it. I’m only thirteen. I mean, sure, Harry’s already managed to thwart the Dark Lord three times, but there’s only one Golden Boy, and I’m not him
Hmmm…I think the Dreamless Sleep potion’s kicking in. I’d better hide this before I fall asleep—wouldn’t want anyone getting a hold of it, after all.
Malfoy
5 September 1993
Well, call me a Weasley and sign me up for Gryffindor; I think I managed to stick my foot in my mouth and insert it completely up to my kneecap.
We had Double Potions with Gryffindor this morning, which went as well as Potions usually does. I played up my injury, as per Father’s orders, which felt rather odd given that I’m not really playing it up. I mean, the gash hasn’t completely healed, and if I’m not careful, it’ll open up and start bleeding again. It doesn’t really make any sense, especially given that both Uncle and Madam Pomfrey have tried coagulation potions and charms to no effect. What really made things bad, though, was that I didn’t keep my stupid mouth shut about Black; given my luck, I’ve probably just given Harry the brilliant idea to find the murderer and kill him in retribution for his parents deaths all on his own. Way to be, Malfoy.
In other news, Professor Lupin seems to be a bit off his rocker, but he does know his stuff. I’m not sure why Uncle seems to loath him so much (it’s a bit hard to tell, since Uncle has a tendency to sneer at everything and everyone), but I kind of like the guy. It’s a shame that House pretences mean I have to be a royal pain in the arse and give him a hard time.
I’m off to the library to look up information for my first Arithmancy assignment—and to maybe brainstorm a few ideas to fix my slip up and keep Harry Snake-Eyes Potter from causing mayhem and getting himself killed.
Malfoy
1 October 1993
Well, it’s been a month since school started. Classes are going fairly well, if a bit difficult—well, mostly Charms, Transfiguration, and DADA, which require a lot of wand work. I really wish Madam Pomfrey and Uncle could figure out what’s wrong with my arm. I mean, I run around with everyone thinking it’s just some big sham that I’m putting on to make the Gryffindors go spare, but I’m really starting to get worried. It throbs and itches at the same time, and I swear it’s got me hallucinating at night; there almost seem to be scales surround the wound.
Quidditch practise began today, and I spent most of my time on the ground, going over plays with Flint. You kind of have to feel sorry for the poor bugger, failing his NEWTs and getting stuck taking one more year of school to try and pass.
I still haven’t come up with a way to fix the mess I made with Harry and the whole thing with Black, but he seems to be playing it smart for now. A fact for which I’m grateful, mind you. It’s not as though I’m in any shape to try and keep him from unintentional suicide. Then again, maybe he doesn’t know the whole story yet…I hope he doesn’t know the whole story yet.
Pansy’s been bugging me to help her narrow down her list of potential boyfriend candidates. I saw the list a few days ago, and had to bite my tongue in order to keep from pointing out that Hannah Abbot and Padma Patil aren’t boys. I mean, who am I to argue with a girl in love with the idea of being in love? It’s silly, if you ask me, but no-one often does.
I got a letter and package from Maman today, and for once I decided not to share my sweets with my Housemates or brag about it at the table. I mean, candied ‘mums are sacred, you understand. She hoped I was well and told me to give her regards to my friends—and told me to remind Blaise not to get near cold water. I mean, what was his mother thinking, cursing her child because she couldn’t decide which gender she preferred…
So, other than the fact that my Charms and Transfiguration grades are shite right now, I’m fairly happy. Or maybe that’s just the painkillers talking. Belladonna’s a lot of fun!
Draco
31 October 1993
Today was the first Hogsmeade trip, which was fairly uneventful. I spent nearly two hours trying to drag Crabbe and Goyle from Honeydukes, and eventually had to resort to have Millie douse Blaise with a bucket of cold water and point her out to them as she ran past, arms clutched to her chest. It was almost laughable how quickly they raced after her. Seriously, I think they need their hormones checked or something; their ‘Duh, pretty girl’ syndrome is almost as frightening as their ‘Duh, sweets’ syndrome.
The Halloween Feast was nice as well, though Pansy and Millie’s plotting was extremely disturbing. Whenever those two get together and “plan,” things usually get royally messed up and I’m the one that has to fix the mess. Higgs is supposed to stop by soon to help me with my Charms homework, and—
Uh-oh, Uncle’s bellowing. I’d better go find out who broke into his stores this time…
I’m continuing my writing from underneath a horrendously bright purple quilt, lying on a matching beanbag. I’m beginning to doubt Dumbledore’s sanity more than ever—I mean, really, bright purple? Anyway, rumour is that Sirius Black somehow managed to break into the school and he slashed the Gryffindor portrait guardian to ribbons. All of the Houses have been put into the Great Hall while the professors check the halls to see if he’s still around.
You know, Halloween’s are never dull around here. First year it was a troll on the loose. Second year, it was Filch’s cat being petrified and the Chamber of Secrets being opened. This year, a mad Azkaban escapee managed to enter the castle in order to probably kill Harry. I wonder what can look forward to for next year—probably something to do with the Dark Lord trying to kill Harry again. Really, Halloween is bad luck for the Golden Boy.
Great, here comes Perfectly Nosy Percy. Better pretend to be asleep.
Draco
20 November 1993
So, not only does the entire school think I’m the world’s biggest faker, they’re also convinced, apparently, that I can summon the forces of Darkness at will. Ever since the accident during the Quidditch game, I’ve gotten nearly two dozen accusations that I somehow summoned the Dementors to the pitch, knowing that they would make Harry black out and fall forty feet to the ground, and that it would cause Hufflepuff to win.
Why is I’m the only one who doesn’t think I’m omnipotent?
Madam Pomfrey said that I wasn’t going to be well enough in time to play in the Quidditch match, and as Slytherin has no backup Seeker, Uncle petitioned Dumbledore to rearrange the matches. I don’t know why everyone complained; I mean, they had almost three week’s notice, seeing as how they were told right after Halloween. And to be told that I’m lying, that I’m faking the injury…I can’t remember the last time I got so mad. If they don’t believe me, why don’t they ask Madam Pomfrey and the Headmaster? I mean, they’re the only reason I didn’t play!
Anyway, the Dementors showed up during the Quidditch match, and I got to see first hand what happens when they’re around Harry. I swear, I thought he was going to become a broken doll on the pitch, but Dumbledore managed to slow his fall and get him to the hospital wing. Unfortunately, the Hufflepuff Seeker—Digger? Diggory?—didn’t realise what had happened and caught the snitch. Gryffindor’s going to have to work their arses off to come up with tactics to win their next three matches if they want to make up the point spread and get the Quidditch Cup. To top things off, though, Harry’s broom got blown into the Whomping Willow and smashed to toothpicks. Wonder what he’s going to do now?
I hope Harry gets this…this…Dementor allergy under control before the Dark Lord hears about it. He’ll be in trouble—big trouble—if he doesn’t.
D. S. Malfoy
31 November 1993
So Gryffindor had plenty to cheer about today—Ravenclaw completely flattened Hufflepuff, which was amazing given that they were playing with their backup Seeker. It’s a wonder that that Chang girl is still playing, given how many injuries she’s suffered. Snake-vine says that she’ll be back for their game against us and Gryffindor.
My arm’s finally showing some signs of improvement. Next term’s going to be a pain the arse, though, since we have to play all three of our matches then. Oh, well; Flint seems confident about the matches against Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff at least.
In other news, Longbottom’s only destroyed one cauldron in Potions this year, so it seems that he’s improving, my Charms’ essays and exams seem to be balancing out my dodgy practical performance, and despite the fact that I’ve been a prat in every single class, I tied for top marks with Lupin in DADA. The only class in which my marks are going to notably suffer is Transfiguration, but Miserly McGonagall said she’d “work something out” since my past performance was high and my essays have been well written.
Maman wrote again, sending yet another box of sweets. I gave all but the ‘mums to my year mates to split up amongst themselves. She’s spoiling me by sending them every time. It’s funny; Blaise still hasn’t forgiven me for the incident in Hogsmeade. It was my idea, yes, but I wasn’t the one who actually doused him with the water. And he managed to change back before Crabbe and Goyle caught him, so I don’t see what the big deal is. It’s not as though they’d know what to do with him even they had caught him.
If he doesn’t get over it soon, I’m going to douse him with cold water and lock him in the dorm with them.
Malfoy
P.S. I thought my kleptomania was under control, but apparently it’s not. I haven’t got a clue as to where I picked it up at, or what exactly is etched into the band, or what the creature cut into the seal is supposed to be, but I picked up a family signet ring from somewhere. My jewellery fetish is beginning to frighten me…
14 December 1993
So, first-term exams are over, and we’re just waiting for marks to be posted. We went down to Hogsmeade for some last minute fun—and, in Crabbe and Goyle’s case, a last-minute sweet binge—and discovered that Blaise and snow are a bad combination. Really, if it was me, I’d curse my own mother—and I like my mother.
Did a bit of last minute shopping for Christmas presents, and eventually found myself alone in Zonko’s. And so I got to thinking about a few things—don’t laugh, journal, it’s really not that funny—and realised that I may have been deluding myself about a few things. This whole thing with my arm and Black and my friends had me distracted from noticing other things that I should have.
Weasley and Granger have been noticeably what Pansy calls ‘on and off’ all term, and the snake-vine says that it’s due to their pets, of all things. Maybe there’s something else going on there, but no-one’s heard for sure. Also, whatever appears to be going on between them is affecting Harry as well; mostly he seems to take Weasley’s side, but when I think about it, he’s torn between them. Weasley was his friend before Granger, but they’ve both managed to claim equal importance over the years.
I wonder what’s going on in his head. As his foil, I should know him as intimately as I know myself, but I haven’t been on task in that respect. It’s time to buckle down again; things are getting serious.
…
No pun intended.
Malfoy
19 December 1993
Father is a crueller man than I thought. Apparently he had the Department of Magical Creatures place an inquiry on the hippogriff that attacked me on the second day of school, and after an “investigation,” it was decided that the creature was too dangerous, and was to be taken care of by the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. I tried to tell him that it was my own stupidity—and arrogance—that caused the accident in the first place, and Maman and I both tried to tell him that my healing problems had nothing to do with the hippogriff, but apparently he doesn’t care. ‘It’s all about image,’ he says.
Bullocks.
D. S. Malfoy
P.S. Alcohol and Belladonna are a baaad combination. I’ve been hallucinating for the last two hours, and it’s disturbing that my stuffed fox is scaring me senseless—I had to hide it under my pillow in order to keep it from whispering naughty things in my ear. When I find out who spiked my late night pumpkin juice, they’re dead—dead, dead, dead, dead, dead! With blood and gore and—and— Shite, the fox got out! Now what am I going to do?!
25 December 1993
Happy Christmas. Now I’m off to hide from Pansy and Millie, who seem intent that I should be caught under the mistletoe with someone tonight. I really, really hate it when Father decides to socialise and have Christmas parties at the Manor. Maybe if I hide in Maman’s rooms…in the closet no less… I mean, they’ll never think to look there!
I am so brilliant, I could kiss myself.
Draco
P.S. Not only was I found, I was forced to suffer through four rounds of Avery and Nott’s horrendous idea of karaoke (whoever the New Kids on the Block are, they need to die!), I had to snog Pansy, Blaise, and some woman who looked older than the portrait of great-great grandmother Aspina Malfoy. At least one of us had a good time…
In other news, pink silk is not my colour, and I will be forced to kill the first person to make ‘out of the closet’ jokes—very, very, very slowly.
3 January 1994
So, Happy Late New Year and all that other holiday nonsense. I should be happy that the new term starts tomorrow, but I’m going through a bout of winter blahs. Maman says that I need to get out more, that the fresh air will do me good.
Fresh air is cold in January. I don’t like the cold. I don’t like January. So, in this instance, I don’t like outside.
Don’t you just love my logic?
I need to start Quidditch practise as soon as possible—our first scheduled match is on the twenty-first, and I still feel extremely weak in the air if I’m up there for more than fifteen minutes. I guess this means I’ll have to take Maman’s advice anyway; drat, I hate doing what I’m told if I don’t feel like doing what I’m told.
Malfoy
4 January 1994
Classes resumed today, and already the snake-vine is a-hiss with holiday gossip. Seems that Granger and Weasley had a huge blow-up during break and aren’t speaking to each other. Not only that, but Granger managed to drive Harry into a nasty temper as well, and though he and Weasley are being chummy, their completely ignoring the girl. Rumour also has it that Harry got a surprise Christmas present that the teachers confiscated—the betting pool ranges on items from a copy of Playwitch to a werewolf cub to a charmed flying vacuum cleaner. Really, I’m not sure where people come up with this stuff…
Started flying exercises last night. I was able to do nearly a half hour’s worth of laps, so if I keep up at it, I should be able to improve my stamina in time for the game.
I just hope that Flint didn’t actually buy cannonballs to throw at me like he said he was going to…
Draco
12 January 1994
Harry’s been spending an awful lot of time with Professor Lupin in the last couple of days. I hope that Lupin’s trying help him figure out a solution to his Dementor allergy.
The other highlights of my week? Cannonballs hurt a lot, Flint’s a demanding pain in the arse, Pansy seems fixated on Blaise in a rather disturbing way, Higgs is already having problems in Potions again, Flitwick insinuated that my practical Charms might improve if I learned how to wave my wand with my ear, McGonagall dropped a book on my head on “accident” when she was pulling it off a shelf in the library, and I’m convinced that I need to spend the rest of my life communing with the lake monster, since that has to be an infinitely more satisfying life than the one I’m currently leading. I wonder if I could get away with calling this a mid-adolescence crisis?
Right. Off to take my Belladonna, eat a few ‘mums, commune with my possessed stuffed fox, and dream about tentacles.
D. S. Malfoy
P.S. After reading this entry the next morning, I’m beginning to wonder if I need to seek professional help… I’m actually starting to frighten myself.
21 January 1994
Okay, so maybe it was a narrow victory, but it was still a victory. I still caught the bloody snitch, even though that Chang girl nearly knocked me from my broom twice. I really don’t see where the other Houses get off calling us liars and cheats when they’re just as bad as we are, if not worse.
If I ever meet Chang in a dark corridor, I think I’ll push her down a flight of stairs…or two…or three… I mean, grabbing my arm like that, and right where the wound was… I spent nearly two hours in the hospital with Madam Pomfrey clucking and fussing like a mother hen. It was disturbing—more disturbing than that fact that it took nearly an hour for the bleeding to stop. Really, I thought the dratted thing was finally healing.
I really need to get started on my Arithmancy essay for Vector, seeing as how it’s due in two weeks. Suppose that means I actually need to pick a topic. Guess I’ll do it the same way I picked my topic for my end-of-term essay in DADA—sing a stupid Muggle rhyme as I drag my finger up and down the table of contents until I pick the one that’s “it.”
…
And people think I’m logical why?
Malfoy
12 February 1994
So the big mystery’s finally been solved. I’m actually a bit disappointed that it didn’t turn out to be an enchanted vacuum cleaner—would have made for an interesting Quidditch match. No, instead, Harry got some anonymous Christmas present of a Firebolt. Yep, the broom that everyone was drooling over in Diagon Alley. I heard that even Hooch started drooling when she chaperoned their practise this evening—and she still swears by the Silver Arrows!
Uncle’s been even crabbier than usual lately, but he won’t tell me why. I hope it’s not because of the bath set Maman got him for Christmas. I swear, he doesn’t know how to take a joke.
Draco
14 February 1994
Looking back, I haven’t had a positive Valentine’s Day entry ever, so I guess it’s no surprise that this year’s is awful as well.
Pansy’s trying to use me to make Blaise jealous, and all it seems to be doing so far is make our resident gender-confused Slytherin even more confused—and I’m tired of playing councillor when I’m the one who needs a councillor! Anymore, I give people the same advice I give Crabbe and Goyle—go gorge yourself on chocolate for a few hours, and the resulting stomach ache will make you forget your other pains for a few hours.
So, does this make me a cold and heartless bastard? Maybe. I have yet to see real proof, though, that I’m not just being practical.
Malfoy
P.S. Happy bloody Valentine’s Day. May everyone choke on their chocolate, be paper cut by their cutesy cards, and prick their fingers on rose thorns.
Love,
Me
20 February 1994
So, that whole making things up as I go along thing that I was complaining about sometime earlier this year? Well, leave it to me to have another bloody brilliant idea the day before the Gryffindor/Ravenclaw match. Just what was this spur-of-the-moment notion of mine, you ask?
Why, to imitate a Dementor of course.
Unfortunately, it appears that I severely underestimated the amount of time Harry was spending with Professor Lupin—as well as underestimating just what it was the man was teaching him. Have you ever been bared down upon by a huge white stag with lowered horns? If it hadn’t been for the fact that I’d passed out from sheer fright, I probably would have wet myself. As it was, whatever Harry set at us scared us all quite witless (well, more witless than we already obviously were), which led to us giving ourselves away. Mangy McGonagall shrieked at us for nearly a half hour, and then deducted twenty-five points a piece as well as assigning us detention. I can’t believe we lost a hundred points! Well, at least Flint doesn’t seem too upset, nor does the rest of Slytherin House. As a matter of fact, several people I don’t even know congratulated me for my “daring attempt at blatant sabotage.”
I’ve had this sinking, sickening feeling sitting in the pit of my stomach since then, once I’ve become familiar with in the past three years. It’s the one that usually tells me that things are beginning to line up, that something big is about to happen. And given the way the year’s gone so far, that can only mean one thing: Someone’s going to try and kill Harry.
However, given how quiet Father’s been about things, I don’t think he’s involved this time. In fact, it’s almost as if things are centring entirely on Black—and I shudder to think about the implications of that.
Malfoy
P.S. Black somehow managed to get into the castle again, as well as into the Gryffindor tower. Apparently he shredded Weasley’s curtains—probably looking for Harry so that he could finish what the Dark Lord began. I hope Harry’s not going to be stupid enough to go looking for him. That’d be just like him, leaping, then looking, and then having to bite things and make them die.
…
I really, really need to sleep more.
28 February 1994
In case it hadn’t already been established, I’m intelligent but quite lacking in common sense. Only I would open my mouth and insert my foot in such away without making sure that we were alone.
So, there I was, not so innocently bashing Harry and his friends with Crabbe and Goyle (it was a Hogsmeade weekend, and we were checking out the Shrieking Shack), when who should we run into but the Weasley himself, apparently alone. And, of course, I couldn’t resist getting in a jibe or two; I have appearances to maintain, after all. Then, suddenly, I was the recipient of a cold, slimy mud ball—several, actually, most of them to the head. Weasley just sat there and howled with laughter while something attacked us with mud and sticks, and eventually I caught on when one of the boneheads tripped.
Harry was there, hiding underneath an Invisibility Cloak.
Now, I’d thought the spirit stag had been scary, but it was nothing compared to the momentary horror of Harry’s disembodied head. I’m not ashamed to admit that I screeched like a girl and ran for it (especially considering the fact that Crabbe and Goyle did the same). Unfortunately, the first person we ran into was Uncle, and I ended up babbling the whole story—as ludicrous as it sounded—without stopping to think what kind of trouble Harry and Weasley would get into. Uncle actually creeped me out with the smile he gave me before gliding down the halls to try and find Harry.
…
Right now, I feel sorry for Harry, even if he was out of Hogwarts without permission. I mean, he’s practically been locked away all year, not to mention the fact that the teachers and some of the students have been following him around like hounds in an effort to keep him safe. Don’t they realise that the only person who can keep Harry safe is Harry? Well, and me, of course, since I am the anti-him.
…
Grammatically, that last part makes absolutely no sense, but I’m too tired to care right now.
D. S. Malfoy
9 March 1994
Ah, kleptomania, I have missed thee…not at all!
Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, I filched a couple of books that belonged to Blaise and I’m not sure how to go about returning them. I mean, he’s sure to notice in a few days that they’re gone, but I don’t really want to return them. I beginning to think there’s a reason I steal the things I do, so I should hang on to them until I figure out why I have robber-bird syndrome.
I’m currently hiding out in the dormitory so that no-one notices the hand imprint on my face. Who would have thought that mousy Granger could hit…well, better than a girl? My jaw still hurts…
Slytherin House as a whole seemed happy to hear that Hagrid had lost his appeal case to spare the hippogriff’s life. However, I’m still upset that Father didn’t listen to me. There’s really no need to kill the creature given that I was the one who pissed it off.
Father’s never cared to hear what I have to say though. And that hurts almost as much as the rejection of fearfully-offered friendship.
D. S. Malfoy
12 March 1994
Well, my arm’s almost as good as new, and we managed to trounce Hufflepuff; really, that Diggory character wouldn’t have beaten Harry to the snitch has the Dementors not shown up. He’s good enough on a broom, but he doesn’t really have the build—or the mentality—to play the Seeker position very well. Of course, my opinion of Hufflepuffs and Quidditch has long been known to be rather cut and dry: they don’t mix.
Unfortunately, this means that Gryffindor isn’t very far behind us, and if they pull a significant enough point spread and Harry catches the snitch, they’ll actually get the Quidditch Cup this year.
That sinking feeling…it’s been getting steadily worse. I wrote to Maman about it, asking if there’s any form of precognition in our family, but she hasn’t responded yet. And I refuse to ask the batty Divination teacher, Professor Trelawny. Apparently she’d been predicting Harry’s death at least once every other week. If you ask me, the woman needs another hobby.
Malfoy
P.S. I think I’ve finally figured out Lupin’s secret thanks to Uncle’s ranting, but I won’t say anything about it. Well, for now, at least.
2 April 1994
I hate my life. No, really, I completely and utterly hate my life. Not only did we lose to Gryffindor today, they won by a large enough point spread to take the Quidditch Cup as well.
I’m now off to drown myself in the showers. If I don’t write again, that means I actually managed to succeed at something for once.
Malfoy
25 May 1994
This whole day has been one, big…um, what was that crude but appropriate word that Blaise was using…? Oh, yeah! Clusterfuck, that was it. The whole day has been one big clusterfuck, what with exams ending, the hippogriff’s execution, and the Gryffindor Trio’s disappearance from the school grounds.
To top all of this off, rumour flying around at the moment is that Sirius Black was caught, he hurt Weasley and Granger and attempted to kill Harry, and Lupin was in on all of it. I feel so betrayed, finding out that the man I kind was beginning to like was a traitor as well.
Somehow, the hippogriff managed to break free of its restraints right before its execution. Father and Macnair were quite angry, but I couldn’t help feeling relieved; it was a bit like having a sudden weight lifted off your shoulders. Macnair’s nothing more than a bloody psychopathic butcher, and it’s about time that Father’s plans get ruined so fabulously.
Uncle was the one to find the Gryffindor Trio and Lupin. Again, according to the snake-vine, Black’s being held in one of the upper-floor rooms, awaiting the arrival of Minister Fungus and the Dementors. The Ministry has declared the Dementor’s Kiss for Black. You know, even if he did commit all those murders, I’m not sure anyone deserves to die that way…
On second thought, for helping the Dark Lord and doing what he did to Harry, he does deserve the Kiss. Maybe a life of soulless hell will make him see the error of his ways.
Pansy’s been— What on earth is that horrendous noise? I wonder if a first year accidentally put Mrs. Norris through a Wringer Hex again. Stupid moggy. Hmmm…actually, it sounds like a person. I guess I’d better go and see what’s going on before any more nasty surprises get sprung on us.
I think I’m in shock. I’ve drawn the curtains tight about my bed to try and block out the nattering of my roommates, but I can’t seem to get my mind to focus properly.
Sirius Black managed to escape. That howl of inhuman rage was Uncle when he discovered that the man was gone. And right now, I don’t know what to think. We Slytherins pride ourselves on be able to gather knowledge in the quickest, most efficient fashion out of all the Houses, but I’m not sure that I completely trust what information our snake-vine has gathered.
Apparently Harry was saying that Black was innocent, that someone else betrayed his parents, an old classmate by the name of Pettigrew. I need to remember to ask Maman about him—as well as Lupin and Black—when I return home, but for now…
Harry believes it. Harry believes that Black is innocent, and swears that he heard this Pettigrew confess. And, strangely enough, given what I know of Harry’s nature, this only means one thing is possible: Black really is innocent. Only a snake would have the ability to weigh venom and malice and decide if it’s real or not. And Harry is the king of snakes, in that case.
It’s all too much to take in right now. Good thing I have some of the Dreamless Sleep potion left or I’d never sleep tonight.
Malfoy
28 May 1994
End of the year and still not much to write. Really, it’s funny how hard a time my mind is having wrapping itself around the concept of Harry and Black and…and…
And Lupin being a werewolf. The day after Black’s escape, Uncle was so upset that he told the entire Potion’s class, confirming what I’d already suspected. It was rather spiteful and cruel for him to do that, but I can’t really say anything against it. For one, I’m a student. For another, I have no idea why Uncle hates Black and Lupin so much, so it’s not really my place to interfere.
I think I’m going to take the time to re-read this year’s entries when I get home. I have a feeling that there are a lot of things I missed noting immediately this year, and I need to be sure that I’m not caught so off-guard ever again. I will keep Harry Bloody Potter amongst the living, even if it kills me.
The gods and goddesses know he has little enough care for his life.
D. S. Malfoy
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